


Far Away

by yaycoffee



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Pre-Series, Stanford Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-29
Updated: 2012-07-29
Packaged: 2017-11-11 00:13:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/472306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yaycoffee/pseuds/yaycoffee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is not Sam's first college party.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Far Away

**Author's Note:**

> Written for spngenlove's Celebrating Sam - Wednesday Comment Fic Meme (prompt: Sam drunkdials Dean while he's at Stanford)

This is not Sam's first college party. It's February, and he thinks it might be his fourth or fifth. It's weird the way the weekends have actually started to blend together, the way he has friends, _friends_ \--people he hangs out with almost daily, people he shares his hours and his days with, people who don't really know him even a little bit, even at all.   
  
But he loves them, and he loves _this_ , and he is guffawing at Eric who is belting out some shitty Nickelback tune while standing on a coffee table someone probably found next to a dumpster somewhere. Eric is spilling most of the beer from his red plastic cup as he pumps his arm out to the side in time with the music, and when he does a spin, he overbalances, falling to the ground, and Sam laughs even harder as he helps him up. Eric bows for the crowd who is still cheering for him, and someone hands each of them a fresh drink.  
  
It's a Jack and Coke, and it's too sweet, but Sam finishes it in four long swallows. He can taste the whiskey even after it's down, after the sugar sweet has left his tongue, and he remembers who he is.  
  
He wanders into the kitchen, and finds the keg has been tapped. He looks at the assortment of bottles on the table, and he reaches for the first thing that _isn't_ whiskey. It turns out to be something that tastes like cinnamon and rubbing alcohol, and he hates it, but he pours himself a half a cup full anyway and wanders back to the main room where everyone is laughing and singing and getting completely shitfaced.  
  
Eric is now doing body shots off of Melissa, and Clinton went out for a smoke with James, and for some reason, Sam is suddenly keenly aware of the weight of the knife at his ankle and the phone in his pocket. He goes outside where someone has lit a fire in the back yard, and there are even more people. He knows most of the faces. He sees Clint and James on the other side of the fire, and something about the way the fire makes their faces go orange and dark and orange again makes him think that this is wrong.   
  
They wave him over, and he starts, but somehow along the way, he found that he's holding his phone in his hand. He begs them off with a short two fingered wave and stumbles to the side of the house where it is dark and there are no people. He hits the button on the phone that makes the face of it light up, and it is really bright. He has to squint to see the names of the people as he's scrolling through the address book, but he knows that _Dean_ is the fifth entry. He doesn't call it, not ever, but he scrolls to it a lot. He thinks he'll do the same now, but before he's thought better of it, his thumb found that green button instead of the red one.  
  
He can hear the line ring, just barely, from down around his navel where he is holding the phone. He's not sure he wants to bring it up to his ear, but his body does that for him without really even asking his brain, just like it did the thing before and the thing before that.  
  
It's rung three times, and Sam is almost ready to disconnect. He won't leave a message, he decided, but in the middle of the fourth ring, Dean picks up.  
  
"Sammy?" he says. "Are you hurt? Are you okay?"  
  
The sound of Dean's voice paired with the amount of alcohol in his flammable blood make it hard to fight the sting behind his eyes, the lump that rises in his throat. He hasn't heard that voice in months. Not since the last time Dean left him a message that said, "Fucking call me, you little shit," sometime last fall.  
  
Sam clears his throat and says, "Hey, Dean. " His voice sounds strange even in his own ears, and he _knows_ Dean will hear it, too. "I'm fine," he continues, and holy hell, he sounds so drunk.  
  
He can hear the huff of a chuckle on Dean's end. "Someone give you a third beer, Sam?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"You heard me. You're drunk, but that doesn't take much. You are _freakishly_ tall for such a lightweight." Dean sniffs, and Sam can almost see the lines of his face grow hard. "Whatcha need, little brother?"  
  
"Nothin'" Sam says. He doesn't really know _what_ to say, so he shuffles his feet a little. "Are you okay?" he asks, because suddenly, more than anything, he needs to know.  
  
"I'm absolutely fantastic," Dean says. "Glad you asked. Just got my ass handed to me by a god damn Poltergeist." He pauses for a second. "But I'll live."  
  
Sam doesn't ask about Dad. "Did you get it?"  
  
Dean pauses again. "Yeah," he says. His voice is low, and Sam hears that low chuckle again. Sam ignores how sad it sounds. "Think so. But not before it bounced me off every damn wall in the place." He waits another few seconds before he speaks again, and Sam knows that pause. Sam knows. "How's, uh--" he starts. "How's school?" He says the word _school_ like it hurts.  
  
"School's good. Made the dean's list last semester. Got a job in the library. Midterms are in a few weeks."  
  
"That's good, Sammy," Dean says. He sounds so far away. "That's real good."  
  
"Yeah," Sam replies dumbly. "Take care of yourself, Dean," he says next, and he means it. He realizes that what he wants more than anything is to be able to reach out and touch Dean, make sure he's real, make sure he's solid, make sure he's not just a memory. "Be careful. Stay safe."  
  
"I will, Sam. You know I will."  
  
As he hangs up the phone, he walks back to the noise and light of the party. He sees James light a fresh cigarette, and he joins him and Clint by the fire, which flares and crackles as Sam empties the contents of his red cup into the flame.  
  
~End~


End file.
